Around Midnight
by BiggestDickEver
Summary: A sneaky little one shot for the BDE contest. Despite her best efforts, Bella finds herself inexplicably drawn to the very talented and very attractive man next door. One problem? He's the world's biggest dick. E/B. Romance/Humor.


_a/n: The siren song of a BDE was just too much to ignore, so I couldn't resist writing a little someting. Hopefully it's enough to whet your appetites, and to drag all you lurking dick lovers out of hiding. The deadline is looming, and there are so many amazing ways to go. Don't forget to check out the Facebook and Twitter, and when you're alone - Tumblr._

 _Don't be shy, you guys. Don't be scared. We'll be right here for you._

 _Take a deep breath._

 _Relax._

 _Write._

 _For now, enjoy. X_

* * *

 **Author:** MissWinkles

 **Title:** Around Midnight

 **Summary:** A sneaky little one shot for the BDE contest. Despite her best efforts, Bella finds herself inexplicably drawn to the very talented and very attractive man next door. One problem? He's the world's biggest dick. E/B. Romance/Humor.

 **Pairing:** Edward/Bella

 **Rating:** M

 **Disclaimer:** The author does not own any publicly recognizable entities herein. No copyright infringement is intended.

* * *

 **Around Midnight**

"So your new neighbor is a dick?"

"No!" I yell from the kitchen. "He's not just _a_ dick, he's the biggest dick of them all." I grab two wine glasses and tuck the bottle of Pinot under my arm. "It's like all the dickheads in the world got together and voted him Leader of the Assholes."

Esme rolls her eyes, holding a hand out for a glass. "He can't be that bad."

Plopping onto the sofa beside her, I hand her the bottle of wine and an opener. "Oh no, he's worse. He's a pianist— "

Esme giggles, but stops when I give her a look. "Sorry. That word makes me laugh."

"He's a jazz piano player or something."

"Ooh, sexy!" Her smile straightens out and she frowns seriously. "Sorry again. Shutting up."

She hands me the bottle and I fill her glass before filling my own and taking a big gulp. "He comes and goes at all hours, stomping around over there like a herd of elephants, and always slams his door."

"Boo."

"He gets home at two o'clock in the morning and plays his music so loud that my goddamn teeth rattle."

"Asshole!"

"He's always out on his balcony smoking."

"You still smoke though, right?"

"That's not the point!"

"No. Of course."

"I'm pretty sure he steals my newspaper deliveries, and I've seen him in the hall with no less than three different women in three weeks."

"Oh. So you've seen him? Is he cute?"

"I…" I take another sip of wine, shrugging. "Yeah? I don't know. I guess. If you like that messy, musician-type of guy. Anyway, that's not the point. The point is he's a dick."

"King Dick!"

"President Dick!"

Since my move, a month or so ago, Esme and I have begun a Friday night ritual of wine and pizza. My new apartment is closer to the place she shares with her husband, and since he spends his Friday night playing cards with his friends she's free to booze it up with me, giving me the perfect opportunity to vent about my horrible next door neighbor.

"In all honesty, Bella, he doesn't sound that bad."

I growl, clenching my fist. "He is! It's… I can't even explain it. It's… just… it's lots of little things. You'll see," I say, gesturing to the wall between my neighbor and I. "You'll see."

Esme just shrugs. "Well, if he's the worst thing about this amazing apartment, then things could be worse."

Looking around at my apartment, I can't help but agree. Dick in the apartment next door aside, I've stumbled into a dream. "I'll cheers to that," I say, setting into the sofa beside Esme. Talk of the guy next door ebbs into talk of work, and of her husband Carl, and to decorating ideas for my new place. Before we know it we're two bottles of wine and a cheese pizza down and it's past midnight.

"Jesus," says Esme, glancing at her watch. "It's almost one. I'd better go."

I nod, my eyes suddenly heavy with a week of work and two bottles of red wine behind me. I yawn, looking forward to curling up in bed and sleeping in late tomorrow.

"You'll call me before you come over, right?" asks Esme as I see her out.

"Yeah. Let me know if you need me to pick anything on the wa-oh my God." I drop my voice to a whisper. "Don't look now, but my asshole neighbor just got out of the elevator with _another_ random girl."

Esme straightens, and I can see her bursting out of her skin to look. Over her shoulder, I watch as my neighbor approaches. His white shirt is rolled up to his elbows, a black tie loose around his neck. He looks like a cliche from some 1920's romantic film. Tucked under his arm is beautiful girl number four. She's short, with long dark hair and doe-like eyes, and she smiles politely as her eyes catch mine. He looks up too, his green eyes find mine, and his arm drops from around her shoulder. "Evening," he says, nodding. We reply in kind and watch as the couple strut past before disappearing into his apartment.

Esme shakes her head, looking a little dazed. "I should be so lucky to live next door to an asshole that looks like that." She sighs. "I wish I had your life."

Rolling my eyes, I shove her gently. "Shut your mouth and go home to your husband."

Once she's gone, I lock up, turn the lights off and snuggle down deep into my blankets.

I'm teetering on the edge of sleep when the music next door starts.

Tonight, it's slow and soulful. It sounds like a smoke-filled bar and whisky on the rocks. A warm, raspy voice croons over a piano, her words muffled through the wall. Bunching up my pillow, I shift a little closer, my back pressed against the plaster, the music washing over me.

Before I know it I'm asleep, dreaming of smoky bars and slow dancing, a large warm hand on my lower back, a steady heartbeat under my ear.

The next afternoon I'm standing in the kitchen, preparing dinner, when I hear the song from last night again, only this time I can hear the guy next door playing along on his piano.

My knife and chopping discarded, I sneak quietly to my balcony, where the doors sit open to the late autumn afternoon. The piano soars around the music, veering from soft and melodic - barely there - to fierce and emotive.

By the time he finishes that song, and the ones after, the sun has set and the city is dark, glittering before me.

He turns the record player off and silence blankets the space between us.

The next thing I hear is the bang of his front door as he leaves for the night, and then it's just me again.

By seven-thirty on Wednesday night, after two days of meetings and conference calls, I'm slippered, fresh-faced, and wrapped in my favourite sweats and hoodie, reaching for the remote. By eleven, I've watched all the RuPaul Drag Race episodes I had recorded, and am doing all I can to keep my eyes open. I've just settled into bed with my alarm set for five AM, when I'm awoken by the sound of my front door rattling.

My heart thumps wildly in my chest as I lie as still as I can, listening for the noise again.

I listen.

And listen.

Nothing.

I've almost convinced myself that I imagined it when I hear it again - the rattle of my front door handle. Adrenaline hits my veins and before I know it, I'm creeping down my hallway with a baseball bat in my hand. Shaking, I reach for the door handle just as something bumps loudly against the other side of the door. I jump back but tighten the grip on my bat as I step up to the peephole.

"Are you kidding me?" I swing the door open, the bat resting against my shoulder. "What the fuck are you doing?"

Bleary-eyed, my neighbor looks up from the set of keys in his hand. His brow furrows and he blinks slowly. "Is this...whad'ryou doing in my apartment?"

"This is my apartment, dickhead."

He blinks again before leaning back a little to look at the numbers on the wall beside the door. "Huh." He stumbles back a bit. "So it is." He looks back at me, green eyes glazed and unfocused. "Thanks," he says, and I roll my eyes, watching as he takes a wobbly step to the left and then to the right before he disappears down the hallway.

I close the door but stay stuck to the spot behind it, listening. I hear his keys jingling, and the sound of him whistling something off-tune and silly, but I don't hear his door. A million images of him dying in the hallway flicker through my head as I bang it against the back of my door lightly. He'll die in a pool of his own vomit. He'll slip and crack that stupid head of his open and bleed to death. Worse - he'll fall asleep in the shower and flood the entire floor. Sighing, I open the front door and step back out into the hallway. He's still there, his keys in his hand, swaying gently as he looks for the right one.

"Do you need help?"

His head jerks my way, his hair falling over his eyes. He smiles lazily, shaking his head. "I'll be fiiiiine. Don-Don't worry 'bout me."

Sighing, I step toward him. "How you doing with those keys there?"

He looks down at the keys in his palm like they hold the blueprint to the life and then looks back up at me, swaying. "They all look the same."

"Mind if I try?" He agrees, and I snag the keys from his hand and look through them for something that matches mine. He gestures to the front door, and I step in front of him. I try a few that look similar while he stands beside me, watching.

"You know," he says, resting against the wall beside the door. "People have written some of the greatest jazz songs in the world about legs like yours."

I snort. "I'll bet they have. A-ha!"

Finally, the key turns in the lock and his front door opens.

"A-ha!" he echoes, stumbling into his apartment.

"Are you going to be okay?" I call after him.

He waves me off, bumping into his benchtop as he stumbles around his kitchen. I want to go back to bed so badly my eyes are burning, but this daughter of a cop can't let a horribly inebriated man fall asleep in a pool of his own vomit.

"I'm coming in, okay?" I call out. "And I'm bringing the bat. So don't get any ideas." I step tentatively through the doorway and into the apartment where my neighbor now shuffles around, looking wobbly. "Holy shit. Your place is so… nice."

Its layout is the same as mine - small kitchen and living area, bedroom and bathroom to the right. But whereas mine is sparse and tidy, his is a crazy mix of old music posters, instruments and handmade furniture.

He flops down onto a vintage-looking sofa, legs hanging over the edge, head propped up at an awkward angle, his large feet flailing as he tries to kick off his shoes.

Shelves upon shelves of records line the wall beside me. They're crammed into the space beneath his coffee table too, and in crates against the opposite wall-everywhere. It's insane but also really cool. I want to flip through them and see what he has. To smell the cardboard and feel the vinyl under my fingers. Somehow though, I don't think he'd be the kind of guy to let strangers rummage through his vinyl collection.

"Are these-oh shit." I grab his foot, giving it a wiggle in an attempt to wake him. "Okay, uh… Mr? Mr Neighbor Dude?"

He doesn't move.

I scan a bunch of mail sitting on the coffee table, looking for a name. Mr Cullen. Mr . "Not helping." Dear Edward. "Bingo! Edward! Edward? Can you hear me?" I kneel down on the floor beside the couch. "Edward?" I shake him gently and he turns his head to face me, sighing. I wince, holding a hand over my nose. "Oh my God. You smell like whisky and bad choices. Edward? I need you to get up, or turnover, or sit up or something."

"Uh-uh. Sleep now."

Frustrated, I shove his shoulder roughly. "Wake up!"

He snorts, but his eyes open a little. "What-Oh, hey, dollface."

"You need to turn onto your side."

"No, I'm fine. Thank you."

"Edward! If you choke on your own vomit I swear to God I'll kill you. Now, roll over."

He groans, but nevertheless rolls awkwardly onto his side, his arms crossed over his chest.

"Well that was easy," I whisper. "Okay, blankets, blankets." I look around. Figuring I'll grab one from his bedroom I walk quickly into the bedroom and flip a light on. I don't know what I was expecting - a messy, stinky dude's room, or even some sleazy bachelor pad-type schtick - but it's neither. It's neat and tidy - a few pairs of shoes beside the bed but nothing crazy - some framed pictures on the walls, and, in the corner of the room, a big old record player.

"You," I hiss at it. I think about sabotaging the plug, or the needle, in the hope that maybe I'll get through a few nights without the music blaring through the walls but think better of it. I might not like Edward that much, but it looks like a vintage player and who knows how much something like that costs. I pull the comforter off the bed and bundle it into my arms before switching the lights off and walking back to the living room.

"Oh shit!" I gasp, dropping the blankets so that I can cover my eyes.

I don't know how he did it, but in the small amount of time it took me to grab the blanket, Edward has taken off every stitch of his clothing apart from his underwear. Keeping my eyes averted, I pick up the blanket again. I round the coffee table, yelping as I catch the corner against my knee.

Tired, frustrated, bruised, and pissed off, I toss the blanket over Edward.

But.

Something catches my eye.

Some. Thing.

Wide-eyed, I stand beside a sleeping Edward.

It must have been a trick of the light, I tell myself, trying to shake the image from my mind.

But now my interest is piqued.

I stare at the wall above the sofa for a moment, warring with myself. To look or not to look.

Fuck it.

"You are going straight to hell," I whisper to myself as I pinch the edge of the comforter with my thumb and forefinger, lifting slowly. My mouth drops open and I have to cover a gasp with my free hand.

Oh. My. Fucking. God.

"You looked at his junk?!"

I flush a horrible shade of red. "Not my finest hour, I know."

"Did he see you?"

"God no! I dropped the sheet and got the fuck out of there. But, Esme, you don't… I… I've never seen anything like it."

Esme smiles, wriggling toward me. "So he was big?"

I shake my head.

She claps excitedly. "He was tiny! Oh my God, tell me he has a tiny dick. It would serve him right!"

I shake my head again. "No Esme. _Big_ is not the word. _Big_ doesn't begin to describe it."

"How big are we talking? Orlando Bloom or Michael Fassbender?"

"I don't know-what? Why do you know how big their dicks are?"

She's quiet for a moment before putting her cup of tea onto the side table beside her. "Okay." She holds her hands out in front of her facing each other. "Tell me when." Slowly, she moves her hands apart, her eyes widening as the space between her hands does the same.

"Stop."

Esme's mouth falls open as she looks down at the space between her hands. "Did you… was he, like, hard?"

"It's not like I took a good look, Esme! It was a quick peek." I bite my lip, thinking back to the night before. "But no, I don't think so."

Esme sits back against the cushions, her expression one of wonder. "Wow."

"Yeah."

"Wow."

I nod.

"What do you know," says Esme after a moment, smirking. "The biggest dick in the world is attached to the biggest dick in the world."

This makes me laugh just a little too much. "Figures," I say, shaking my head. "A monster with a monster."

We're both quiet for a moment as Esme refills our glasses. "You know you need to get on that, right?"

"Esme!"

"Bella! You know I love my husband and I love his dick, but you need to do this for me. I need you to go there. Let me live vicariously through you! Get. That. Dick."

"Are you kidding?" I say with a snort. "He would tear me in two."

She makes a face. "Psht. You warm up a little, you ease into it - or onto it, in his case - you'll be fine." She shudders. "Oh my God, you are the luckiest girl I know."

"No, no, no. Wait, I never agreed to this." I throw my hands up in defence. "I'm not going anywhere near that… thing. Have you forgotten who it's attached to?"

Esme makes a face. "He's really not that bad. And honestly, with that face and a dick like that…"

"I thought you were supposed to be my best friend! Where is the unwavering support?"

"This is support! I'm supporting the decision for you to jump that man." She grabs my hand in hers, clutching it to her chest. "If not for you, do it for me."

I snatch my hand back, rolling my eyes at her. "Even if I was limber enough for his… dick... not to destroy me, he's a jerk. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction."

Esme chews on her slice of pizza thoughtfully. "Well, technically the satisfaction would be yours."

Rolling my eyes, I stuff half a slice into my mouth. Esme doesn't need to know that I haven't been able to stop thinking about this exact thing since what has now been deemed The Incident. Out of nowhere, my brain has flipped some buried switch somewhere and all I can think about is his dick.

It's just a dick. Who knows, maybe he's terrible in bed?

 _Ha! You don't need to be good in bed with a dick that size, Bella._

Jesus. Even my subconscious is on Esme's side.

After I've talked Esme down from going over there herself, I decide it's easier just to avoid him. Heaven knows I don't need a man complicating things in my life right now. My business is weeks away from the final expansion contracts being signed, I have my lovely new apartment - no, a boyfriend would only mess things up.

Of course, good dick doesn't have to be a boyfriend as such. Maybe Esme is right. Maybe I need to go there just once.

No!

Avoiding him is the answer. The less I see of him the less I _see_ of him. No more thinking about the dick and his dick.

Of course, from the moment I decide to avoid said dick, he seems to be everywhere I turn. The very next morning he's waiting at the end of the hallway for the elevator as I'm on my way out.

"Oh." I clear my throat, wondering if I can make a run for the stairs. "Hi."

He looks at me for about 0.2 seconds before turning back to his phone. "Hello."

"I hope your hangover wasn't too bad the other morning."

"Nope."

The elevator arrives and we both step in.

"Oh. Well. Good."

The silence stretches on as the elevator flies downward, and the only sound other than the quiet whir of the elevator is the tapping of Edward's text message. He's leaning against the wall, his sunglasses obscuring his eyes, his lips pursed as he looks down at his phone.

I try not to look at his crotch area. I try my absolute hardest. But it's like it has its own gravitational pull. And when I realise he's wearing black slim-fit jeans I can't help but look. Where does he keep it all? How on earth does he tuck that monster of a dick into pants that tight? He shifts a little, and for just a moment I see the outline of it press against the underside of his pants and holy shit my knees weaken just a little.

You did not just salivate, Bella.

I'm no stranger to an above average sized dick. I've been with enough men to know it comes in all shapes and sizes. But this. This? I don't know if I'm scared or turned on. Probably both.

At the ground floor, he steps out as soon as the doors open. "See you around," he says coolly, and I watch him disappear out the front doors. Just like that. No thank you for not letting me drown in my own vomit, no thanks for looking after me, not even a have a nice day.

"Yeah. See you around, asshole."

After that, I see Edward and his dick just about everywhere. He's in the hallways when I am, at the kerb waiting for a ride when I am, he's even in my favourite liquor store at the same time I am. Each time we have a brief, but awkward, interaction that consists mostly of nodding hello and then actively avoiding each other. It's weird and we both know it.

Finally, it comes to a head one Sunday night. I guess he's having a party or something because the music goes on at nine-thirty and at after one in the morning I'm still awake, unable to sleep for the constant blaring of horns next door. I flip over, stuffing my pillow over my head. "This is ridiculous."

I flip over again, fists balled at my sides, staring at the ceiling. The song comes to an end, and it feels like every nerve ending in my body is buzzing while I wait, hoping that the silence stretches on.

It doesn't. The insane, rambling horns begin anew.

"That's it!"

Clad in my flannel pyjamas and sleep socks, I stomp through my apartment, throw the front door open, and stomp down the hallway to 5E. I knock three times, my hand tapping against my thigh as I wait impatiently. I raise my hand to knock again but the door swings open suddenly. Edward is in his shirt and slacks, but tonight the tie is gone and the shirt is unbuttoned halfway like some ridiculous hero from a romance novel. He grins at me, eyes lazily taking in my pyjama-covered body. I want to slap his stupid handsome face.

"Nice pyjamas."

I fidget, feeling suddenly uncomfortable under his green-eyed gaze. "Thanks. Listen, I don't want to sound like a nagging neighbor— "

"Really?"

"But—" I frown. "Uh, yeah. It's two in the morning and these walls are pretty thin. Think you could turn it down? Just a bit."

He nods. "I could."

"Oh." I clasp my hands in front of me, nodding. "Thanks."

"But I won't."

"What?"

"Like you said, these walls are thin. I'd rather you hear music than something else."

I frown, confused. "Are you holding a meeting for the local mafia? What on earth could be worse than this racket at two in the morning?"

His eyes narrow and he crosses his arms. "Listen here, sweet cheeks. Number one; I have company." He opens the front door wider, allowing me a glimpse of the brunette stretched out on his sofa. "And the music provides a little privacy since, as you said, the walls are very thin." I clench my jaw, mirroring his stance with my arms crossed as he continues. "Number two; that _racket_ is John Coltrane. I'm sure even you've heard of him."

"Ugh. You are such a pretentious ass, you know that? I think I liked you better when you were passed out."

He smirks. "What do you know, I liked you better then too."

"Oh my God! I should have let you choke on your own vomit."

"Calm down, midday movie. No one chokes on their own vomit anymore, and anyway, I'm a big boy, I can look after myself."

I flush a brilliant shade of red at his choice of words. "You… you're such a jerk.

"And you're a nosy prude."

I gasp. "Manwhore."

"Neophyte."

"Jerk!"

"Bitch!"

And with that, he slams the door in my face.

Growling in frustration, I storm back into my apartment and slam my front door. "Call me a neophyte will you." I pout my lips, making a stupid face. "Even you've heard of him," I mock in my best douchebag next door voice. "Motherfucking asshole. Two can play at that game." Vibrating with anger, I turn on my iPod dock and flick through Spotify until I find the most obnoxious pop song I can find. My smile grows as my finger taps the volume button and awful, paint-stripping, over-auto-tuned music blares from my speakers, drowning out the jazz from next door.

It takes a great deal of effort not to dance along, and my smile almost explodes off of my face when I hear a loud knock on my door not even a minute into the song. Taking a breath, I swan over to the door.

He knocks again, this time harder.

I open the door, an innocent expression painted onto my face. "Yes?"

His hair is a mess, the auburn-crazy falling over his forehead as he looks at me with disgust. "Are you insane?"

Cocking my head to the side, I blink at him. "I don't know what you mean."

"WILL YOU TURN THAT NOISE DOWN?"

I shimmy a little, grinning. "You don't like it?"

He makes a face of pure revulsion, but I swear that - for just a second - I see a smile tug at the corners of his mouth. "No. I do not like it."

"Well, you could just be polite and ask me to turn it off. As you said, you're a big boy."

He shakes his head, hands rammed hard into his hair as he tries to ignore the horrible music blaring out of my speakers. Jaw clenched, he looks up at me, stone-faced. "Would you be so kind as to turn your music down? Please."

I give him my very best and brightest, sugar-dipped smile. "Of course!" I tap the remote in my hand a few times, and - thank God - the music quiets. "All you had to do was ask. Now, if you could be so kind as to turn your music down, we'll call it a night."

His eyes narrow. "You're actually crazy."

Smiling, I close the door in his face.

"It's down here somewhere."

It's a cold and rainy Saturday, and I've been dragged out of my warm and cosy apartment, lured by the promise of cocktails and dancing.

Leah leans toward me conspiratorially as we turn into a darkened alley. "Now would be a good time to tell us if Esme is a serial killer."

I laugh. "I can't promise you that. I can promise I will use your body as a shield should the need arise though."

"Here it is!"

Above a door that seems to have appeared out of nowhere, a single neon music note buzzes quietly. The moment the door opens a flood of music slams into us. We're lead down a long, dark hallway, past boxes and crates, and into a dark, cosy speakeasy. The room is bathed in dark blue light, the air tinged with the smell of cigar smoke. A lone trumpet wails out over a hushed room, over the sound of clinking glasses and quiet conversation.

"I've heard of this place," says one of the girls.

"Is this a jazz bar?" pouts Mariah. "I hate jazz music."

"You hate anything that isn't rap music."

The girls chatter but it all fades into the background as I spot the band behind the trumpet player. Or, more specifically, the man behind the piano behind the trumpet player.

"Is that…"

Esme steps into my line of sight. "Ooh, is that the guy from J.P. Mason over there? Didn't he slip you his number the last time you met?"

I crane my neck around her, confirming my fears. "Esme. Did you bring me here on purpose?"

She blinks, expression neutral. "I have no idea what you're talking about."

Behind the bass player and the trumpeter, hunched over the keys of a sleek black piano, is my asshole neighbor.

"We're not staying," I snap. "I can't stay here."

"Nonsense. You'll be fine!"

"You did this on purpose!"

"I did no such thing!"

"Liar! Your nostrils flare when you get indignant."

Esme touches a hand to her nose delicately. "They do not. Do they?"

"Let's go, Esme," I tug on her arm. "Please?"

Her face softens, and she steps to the side with me. "Look. If you really want to leave we can, but I think you're overreacting." She grabs my hand in hers, holding tightly. "You're the CEO of a multi-million dollar company, a grown ass woman, and a badass motherfucker. If anyone should be scared, it's him."

I release my bottom lip from my teeth and straighten up, pinning my shoulders back a little. Goddamn it. "You're right. I hate that you're always right. Why are you always right?"

"Because you pay me to be." She grins. "And because I'm amazing."

"You are," I deadpan. "What on earth would I do without you?"

"Die a thirsty woman. Now give me the business AmEx so I can order a round of drinks."

Esme proceeds to order a round of expensive cocktails and a bottle of Champagne, while we take one of the large booths at the back of the bar. I try my best to listen to the conversation around me, but the music is loud and since the moment we walked in, my brain walked out.

The band is good. The woman on double bass keeps a solid beat in time with the drums, and the trumpet player is insanely talented. But neither of them come close to how good Edward is on piano. His head is bowed over the keys, hair falling over his forehead, shoulders hunched as his fingers fly up and down the piano. He's intense and focused, and I know that should I get close enough he would smell like warm skin and maybe sweat and that aftershave he wears. He would smell like sex.

Something deep in my belly pulses.

I cross my legs beneath the table.

"Damn," comments one of the girls. "That piano player is something else."

"Something else is right," I mutter under my breath. "Jackass."

"He lives in the same building as Bella," gloats Esme, ignoring the blatant stink-eye I give her. "Right next door, in fact."

Six heads all swivel my way.

I shrink down in my seat.

Mariah grabs my arm. "You need to introduce me." She squeaks as James nudges her in the ribs. "Us. Introduce us."

Snorting, I shake my head. Beside me, Mariah, with her pretty grey-blue eyes and honey-coloured hair, pouts, and something dark and spiteful twists in my stomach. For a flash, a moment, just a hint of a heartbeat, I hate her. I hate that she could walk over to Edward, turn her charm on, and be the next in the parade of women he has next door.

"I'm going to go to the bathroom," I say, standing quickly. "Anyone else need to go to the bathroom? Nope? Okay, be right back."

I slide out of the booth and, keeping to the darker parts of the bar, sneak to the bathroom.

"We're going to take a break," says the bass player, her voice deep and sultry. "But don't fret, _mes amours_ , we'll be right back."

Thankfully, the bathroom is empty. I take a moment to freshen up. To take a breath.

"Get your shit together, Bella," I whisper at my reflection. "He's a jerk. You're better than that. You don't need him or his dick."

I repeat this mantra over and over as I run cold water over my wrists in an effort to cool the flush of heat in my chest. After a few minutes, I dry my hands and smooth out my dress.

Outside, I make the universal sign for "having a cigarette" to Esme and duck out the side entrance to where the rest of the shunned society stand, hunkered down into coats, smoke hanging over their heads. A blast of cold air whooshes down the alley, and I pull my shoulders up to my ears, cursing myself for not grabbing my coat.

"No pyjamas today I see."

Oh, for fuck's sake.

He's leaning against the wall near the door, the red haze from his cigarette casting shadows over his angular face. I contemplate ignoring him, but there's only one other person out here, and she's glued to her phone, clearly ignoring me. "No. No pyjamas," I answer.

Pushing off from the wall, he steps closer, holding out a book of matches. A cigarette dangling from my lips, I stare at the matches for a moment. He thrusts them at me again. "They're just matches, Bella."

I take them from him, ignoring the way my body lights up when he says my name. My muscles tighten as he steps even closer, hands cupped around the end of my cigarette as I light the end of it. I suck in a lungful of smoke. "Thanks."

His eyes linger very briefly on my lips as I take another drag.

"Wait. How do you know my name?"

"Your mail gets mixed in with mine sometimes," he says.

"Oh."

I shiver, maybe from the cold, maybe from the way he's looking at me. Edward slides the black suit jacket from his shoulders and holds it out to me.

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Just take the fucking jacket."

I take the suit jacket from him, slipping it gingerly over my arms. The inside if soft and silky, and the whole thing smells like him. Again, something primal and deep pulses in the pit of my belly. He takes a long drag of his cigarette, cheeks hollowing out. I tuck my hand into the coat pocket.

"As much as it pains me to say this - you're very good."

"I know."

"Ha. Of course you do."

Edward sighs, rubbing a long finger over his brow roughly. "I mean, thank you."

"Being a jerk is kind of a default status for you, isn't it? Like, you really can't help yourself."

He throws his head back, laughing. "What can I say, you bring the best out in me."

Rolling my eyes I inhale another lungful of smoke. "If this is your best, I don't know what all those women you entertain see in you."

"You mean apart from my good looks, undeniable talent, and incredible wit?"

"And your humility, of course."

Edward shrugs. "Being humble is overrated."

"Is that why I never got a thank you?"

His smile falters a little but he recovers well. "Ah."

"Yeah. Ah. You gave me nothing when I saw you. Not even a thank you high five."

Groaning, Edward scrubs a hand over his head, sending his hair into further disarray. "Fuck. Do you have any idea how embarrassed I was? The one night I decide to drink the city's supply of whisky you decide to talk to me."

"Doesn't mean you have to be a jerk!"

"I know that!"

"So why don't you just say thank you?"

"Thank you."

I roll my eyes. "Oh right. Now you say it."

"Jesus. Can you cut me a break for a moment?"

"What? You think because you have a big dick you can be an asshole?"

"What?"

I freeze, wishing I could snatch my words out of the air and stuff them back in my mouth. "Nothing. What? I didn't say anything."

Edward tilts his head to the side a little, brow creased. "Yes you did. You said I can't be a dick just because I have a big dick."

"What?" I make a noise somewhere in the back of my throat. "You're crazy. I didn't say that."

"Yeah, you did."

I roll my eyes and Edward crosses his arms across his chest, a smirk lifting one side of his mouth. "Bella?"

I fidget under his stare. Pat my hair, tuck it behind my ear, untuck it, tap my foot. "Okayfine. You passed out in your underwear and it's not like I looked it was just kind of there and I saw it but I covered you up and you had underwear on, but yeah. I saw it. Okay?"

His eyebrows lift a little, and I brace myself for an angry tirade.

It doesn't arrive.

Instead, his eyes narrow and he takes another drag. "Is that what the "you're a big boy" comment was about?"

I smirk and he grins just a little and suddenly the inside of his jacket feels like a furnace. His green eyes are bright in the darkened alley, his angular face lit only by the red glow at the end of his cigarette.

The side door opens with a bang, and some guy pokes his head out. "We're on in five, Edward."

Silent, Edward tosses his cigarette to the ground.

Somewhat reluctantly, I slide his jacket from my shoulders.

"Keep it," he says, voice husky and quiet. He brushes past me, closer than I'd expected him to be. "I'll get it back another time."

He disappears through the side door, leaving me with a half-ashed smoke, his jacket, and the words _another time_ echoing down the empty alley.

Also, I was right.

He does smell like sex.

At home that night, I kick my shoes off to the side and wiggle my poor toes. I wash my face and pull my hair up, and I've just put my pyjama bottoms on when there's a knock on my door.

I know who it is before I open it.

No one else has the audacity to knock on my door after midnight.

He's still in his shirt and slacks, a tie loose around his neck.

The moment our eyes meet the crackle of something hot reignites between us. "So," he says after a moment. "I think it's only fair, now that you've seen mine, that I see yours."

I laugh. "You're delusional."

"You're a perv."

"You're a dick."

"We've already established your thoughts on my dick."

I don't know what to say, so I just frown at him.

He rolls his eyes. "Look. I didn't mean that." He takes a deep breath. "Why don't you come next door for a drink?" He holds his hand up, silencing my inevitable protest. "Just one. One drink with no pretences other than to clear the air so that maybe we can be civil to each other."

Sound logic.

Damnit.

"Let me get a sweater."

His door is ajar when I arrive. I knock lightly and push it open.

I tug my sweater over my hands, stepping into his apartment. "Edward?"

He appears from the hallway, slacks and shirt changed out for sweatpants and a t-shirt and Lord have mercy he looks better in casual clothes than he does in a suit.

"You drink whisky?" he asks, and I nod.

I watch as he opens a fancy-looking liquor cabinet and pulls out two glasses and pours a solid three fingers into each. Gesturing to the sofa, he takes a seat, handing me my glass as I take a seat at the other end.

The whisky is smooth and smokey, and I take a second mouthful, savouring the flavour.

"How long have you lived in the building?" I ask, trying not to notice the way Edward eyes my mouth as I lick the flavour of whisky from my lips.

"About three years," he says. "I was in Chicago before that, and Seattle before that."

He tells me about his life as a musician. About moving from place to place, following the music, always searching for the next exciting thing. As he talks, his fingers are constantly tapping, moving to whatever it is that's playing on the record player. I don't think he realises that he's doing it.

"So," he says, putting down his empty glass. "You seem to know me more intimately than I do you."

I smile wryly at his choice of words, taking another sip of my whisky. "What do you want to know?"

"What do you do?"

"I run a publishing company called Little Swan Books. We publish and distribute children's books."

"Didn't I see something about Little Swan in the papers recently? Something about an expansion?"

"You did," I say, trying not to sound surprised. "We just opened another office in London."

Edward lets out a puff of breath. "Wow."

"You seem surprised."

"I am, but not in the way you think. I… It doesn't surprise me that you're successful. You strike me as very…" He weighs his words carefully. "Goal-oriented. I'm just surprised at how intimidated I am, and how much that intimidation turns me on."

A rush of heat shoots down my spine, settling into the space between my hips. "Intimidated? You?"

"Are you kidding me?" he baulks. "You're possibly the most terrifying woman I've ever met."

I laugh. "Excuse me?"

His eyes narrow and he looks at me incredulously. "You have no idea do you?" I snort but he continues. "Most of the women I meet are easy to charm. I'm not unaware of my looks, and I'm not stupid enough to call my history with women good luck. I find speaking with them easy, and I've been told that the musician thing is a bit of a trump card also."

"Is this going somewhere?" I joke. "Or are you just listing your positive attributes for the sake of it?"

Edward chuckles softly. "And then there's you."

"Hey!"

"Hear me out. You're intelligent, you're funny - even when you don't mean it, in fact, especially when you don't mean it. You're insanely beautiful, you don't take my bullshit, and now you're telling me you're the CEO of a successful publishing company who just opened an office in London?" He shakes his head, grinning roguishly. "Intimidated doesn't begin to cover it."

"Well, I mean. I guess that's a compliment. Especially given that I'm not one of those easy to charm floozies, huh?"

He has the good sense to blush a little. "Not a lot of the women I bring home would call me an asshole to my face, no."

"Not a lot of men I know would call me a bitch to my face either."

Edward runs a hand through his hair, leaving it a mess. "I guess we're even then?"

I stay quiet for a moment, letting him sweat. "Well," I say after a while. "I guess so."

"What's with all the women, anyway?" I ask after a moment, bolstered by the whisky and Edward's company.

He tils his head a little. " _All_ the women? Have you been keeping a diary?"

It's my turn to blush. I feel the heat at the tips of my ears. "You live right next door. I don't have much of a choice some nights."

"I might ask you why you never seem to have anyone but that red-haired friend of yours over."

"Maybe she's my lover?"

At this, Edward's eyes darken ever so slightly.

Swirling the small amount of liquid around my glass, I shrug, coy. "You never know."

"The way you looked earlier, when you were talking about my dick?" He snorts. "She's not equipped to be your lover."

I laugh loudly. "And you are?"

He just raises an eyebrow at me.

"Listen," I say, holding up a hand. "It takes more than a big dick to be a good lover."

"You want to test that theory?" he asks, sitting back a little.

I stare at him for a moment, kind of pissed off that i'm actually debating whether or not I take him up on his offer. This was supposed to just be a drink. A truce.

He takes my silence as a sign that I'm scared. "Didn't think so," he smirks.

"Why is it that everything you say sounds like an insult?"

"Maybe because no one makes me as pissed off as you do?"

"Whatever." I put the glass down on the table in front of me, shaking my head. "I'm going to head home. Nice chat though."

I stand, turning to leave, but feel him grip my wrist gently. "Hey— " I'm cut short as I find myself only a breath away from him, my chest almost pressed to his.

"I'm sorry," he says quietly.

This close to him, breathing in the smell of the whisky on his breath and the faint smell of cigarettes and his aftershave on his skin, I'm having trouble finding a coherent thought.

"You…" I swallow, watching as he leans a little closer, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips. "I…"

His lips are hesitant at first, testing, teasing, tasting me until I let go and open up for him. His tongue is gentle but his lips are insistent and his mouth tastes of wood smoke and honey. We flop ungracefully back down onto his sofa and, heaven help me, my body feels electrified, like every cell is charged, my skin sparking every time he touches me. He swallows the noise I make as his mouth devours mine, his hand firm on my hip as the other slides to cup the back of my neck, his thumb pressed firmly to the thundering pulse beneath my ear.

I slide into his lap, grinning at the way his breath hitches when I reach up to pull my sweater off.

"I told myself I wasn't going to do this," I say quietly.

Edward shrugs. "I can keep a secret."

We kiss like that for what feels like hours. His hands never leave the safety of my hips no matter how much I wish they would, his lips leaving me chasing his mouth for more every time he goes to pull away. By the time he does, I'm practically panting, my lungs gasping for air and my blood thrumming for him. His thumb swipes across my kiss-swollen lower lip and his eyes darken slightly as the tip of my tongue peeks out to meet it.

Eyes fixed on mine, Edward skims his thumb down my throat, and then further south over the soft spot where my collarbones meet, leaving a wet trail behind. A groan rumbles through my chest as his hand cups my breast, gentle at first, but then firmer. His mouth tilts slightly, edging toward a smile as I press my hips forward against his, gasping as I feel the size of him through his sweats.

"I've never had…" I stop, shifting my eyes downward pointedly. "You're going to have to talk me through this."

His thumb strokes the curve of my cheek. "You are fucking adorable, you know that?"

I laugh nervously. "Yeah, but for real. I'm kind of afraid you're going to break me with that thing."

"We don't have to— "

"No! No. I want to." God how I want to. "I just— " I blush. "I need you to take it slow."

Edward hums thoughtfully as he pulls me closer, hands splayed over my thighs. "I'll see what I can do."

Our kiss is searing, open-mouthed and hot and wanting. Edward's hands splay across my lower back, pulling me into him as I cup a hand around the back of his neck. He breathes my name into my mouth as I tug on the short hair at the back of his head, whispered profanities falling into the space between our lips.

Panting, he pulls away again, hungry eyes raking over my face. "If you're going to ask me to go slow you can't do that again, okay?"

"Okay," I reply, my word lost in a girlish yelp as he cups his hands beneath my ass and stands suddenly.

Edward lowers his head, his lips brushing against the skin beside my ear. "I'm going to take you into my bedroom now, Bella."

My hands fist his t-shirt, pulling him closer.

"I'm going to take your clothes off very, very slowly."

I hiss as we take a step backwards toward his bedroom and his mouth trails wet and warm across my chest.

"I'm going to spread that beautiful body on my bed and bury my face between your legs until you can't see see straight."

Oh, Jesus.

"And when you're ready, so fucking ready for me, you're going to take my dick."

I whimper as he lays me on his bed gently, hovering above me as he whispers, "All of it." And then presses his dick against the place I'm hot and needy for him. "Like a good girl."

My eyes roll back in my head as he pushes my breasts between his hands roughly, and my hips buck up to meet his. Sucking a breath between his teeth, Edward sits up onto his knees and pulls my t-shirt off.

He stills as he takes in my bare skin beneath.

His fingers are feather-light, a stark contrast to his earlier rough touch. The heat of his hands and the gentle skim of his fingertips across my breasts make my skin pebble, and I can't help but smile as he notices the way my nipples harden under his touch.

Grabbing him by the shirt, I pull him down to claim his mouth. My hands are frantic, pulling at his shirt, his sweats, anywhere I can get purchase. His t-shirt joins mine, and his sweats follow.

On his knees above me, he watches as my eyes trail down his body to his grey boxer shorts, where, beneath a thin layer of thin cotton, he waits for me.

My memory has not done him justice.

Reaching out tentatively, I run a finger over the thick length of him, smiling as his dick twitches and his breath stutters. Watching for his reaction, I flatten my hand over the length of him. I feel him pulse and harden beneath my touch and the rush of power is dizzying. Almost desperate to see him uncovered, I reach for the waistband but he taps my hand away gently. "Slow, remember?"

Cheeks flushed, I pout at him indignantly. "Spoilsport."

Tongue reaching out to wet his lower lip, he grins. "You'll get it soon enough."

His mouth returns to my chest anew, and he teases me with lips and teeth and tongue until I'm writhing beneath him. With his mouth on the spot beneath my ear, his hand slips between us to cup me, and I don't know which one of us moans louder.

With one last kiss, Edward shifts his weight until he's face to face with the part of my body that's screaming for him. His nose presses against my underwear as he kisses me softly through the material.

"Oh…" I gasp. "Oh fuck."

His hands make quick work of my underwear, he tosses them aside and then he's soft and warm and so good. So, so good. He devours me like a starving man until I'm shaking and writhing and pushing my hips up against his face. Until I'm right there.

Right there.

And then he stops.

He wipes his face against the inside of my thigh, and the rasp of his cheek against my skin makes me clench and quiver. He reaches for me, tugging me until I'm sitting up. He smirks, noticing the high colour in my cheeks and my glazed eyes. "Slowly, slowly."

Grunting, I push him backwards roughly until he falls back onto the bed. I straddle him.

"Screw slowly."

Edward rests an arm up under his head, watching me with darkened green eyes as I run a finger from his stomach to the top of his boxers. His ribs flare and he sucks in a breath as I slide a hand under the edge of the elastic of his boxer shorts to meet the hot, needy flesh beneath. He's so thick and so long, and the thought of him inside of me makes my thighs shake and my heart beat faster.

I lean forward to kiss a line up his neck, inhaling the smell of his skin, and suppressing the need to groan at the feel of his stubble-covered chin against my lips. He cups a hand against my cheek as I slide a hand along the length of him. "You ready for this?" he whispers, palm flat against the small of my back, guiding, shifting, until I can feel my heat and his against my hand.

Smirking against his mouth, I kiss him hard. I close my teeth gently around his bottom lip, tugging, kissing him better. "Are you?"

His eyes narrow slightly and his mouth begins to tug up into a smile, but when I position him _right there_ , his lips open a little, his breath catching.

I move gently over and above him, sliding him where I'm needy and wet and wanton. His hands grip my hips, his eyes drop to the space between us, and he watches as I lift a little and begin to sink down slowly, my hand guiding him in as he whispers a string of expletives against my skin. I have to stop halfway, my thighs shaking and my muscles clenching as I adjust to the feeling of him inside me. It borders on pain, the feeling of being so complete and full, but even the slightest roll of his hips makes my eyes roll back in my head it feels so good.

Our kisses are wet and hot and the push of his tongue against mine sends goosebumps rolling down my spine. I feel myself relax as a wave of arousal sinks deeper into my stomach, and I

sink

down

very

slowly.

"Oh God," I whisper, frozen as I adjust.

"I knew you'd take it," whispers-groans Edward, his hand buried in my hair. "Fuck-you're so good."

I feel stretched tight and open wide and as he rolls his hips so so slowly I feel him so deep that my heart stutters and my legs shake. Breathing through the slight discomfort, I roll again, biting my lip to hold back a high-pitched whine as something sparks deep in the pit of my belly. My hands and fingers tingle. My toes and scalp and the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle. For once in my adult life, it's me doing my best to hold back my climax. I feel like with just one more push, one slight roll, I might explode completely and I'm torn between wanting to fall over the edge and holding off. My body wants its end but my brain wants so much more.

"I can't…" I'm panting, my head resting against Edward's shoulder, my palms flat against his chest. "Oh, God. I'm so close.""

His warm hands smooth down my back and over my hips, where they stop to press hard, his fingertips making divots in my flesh, small white marks where he grips and moves me. "Take it," he whispers, breath damp against my cheek. "Move. Take it. Come, Bella."

"Edward," I breathe.

His movements are slow. A gentle flex of his hips, the push and pull of his hands against my waist, all I can do is move and feel and try to remember to breathe. Inside I feel like I'm electrically charged, like every move is setting off a ripple of tiny eruptions through my entire body. It hits me like a wave of searing heat, beginning at the base of my back and tearing up my body until I'm bursting open wide and white hot with pleasure.

Beneath me Edward groans, mouth open and eyes shut tight as he pushes further toward his own end. The heat recedes, and with every sharp thrust of Edward's hips against mine, I feel it pull back into that deep place inside, to the place we're joined.

"Edward," I sigh.

His green eyes open to find mine, and his jaw clenches as I lift up, only to snap my hips down against his. "Jesus, Bella," he moans. I pick up the pace a little, ignoring the burning in my core and the slight pain, and with a few last undulations of my hips Edward groans long and loud, his head thrown back as he pulls me tightly against him.

It's primal and quite possibly the sexiest thing i've ever seen.

"Christ," he breathes, going limp.

Panting, I roll off of him, wincing as he slides out from my most sensitive place. "Ouch."

"You okay?" he asks, breathless.

"Yeah."

He turns, watching me awkwardly slide out of bed to his bathroom. I clean up, quickly stopping to sniff his aftershave and use his mouthwash. In the bedroom, Edward is still on the bed, naked, his phone in hand. I grab my underwear and stuff them into the pocket of my sweats. My t-shirt sticks out from beneath Edward. "Toss me that?" I ask casually, cupping my hands over my bare chest.

Edward tosses his phone onto the nightstand and rolls aside enough to tug my t-shirt out from under him. He holds it out, smirking as he keeps it out of my reach enough that I have to stretch over his reclined body to snatch it from him. He takes the opportunity to slap my bottom. I reply with a smack of my own and then slip my shirt on.

"Going so soon?" he asks, resting his arm behind his head.

"'Fraid so."

"No spooning?"

I laugh dryly. "I don't spoon on the first date."

"No?"

I shake my head. "Gotta keep that mysterious intimidating schtick, you know?"

"Bella," he says, propping a knee up. "You just took my dick on the first date with no complaints. I'm more intimidated now than I was before."

I try not to look at the way his now soft dick lies against his inner thigh. I fail, of course, and am kind of surprised at the little swell of emotion my heart has for that particular part of him. "Well, let's keep it that way," I say. "No sleepovers."

"Yet."

Sliding my slippers on, I bend a little to kiss him quickly. "Goodnight, Edward."

He sighs. "Didn't pay you for a dick and duck kind of girl, Bella."

"Oh, Edward," I call over my shoulder as I stroll through his apartment. "You have no idea what kind of girl I am."

His laughter echoes through the small space of his apartment, and the resulting smile on my face stays with me, even as i'm sliding into my own bed on the other side of our shared wall. Shifting a little to get comfy, I'm unsurprised to find that I'm pretty sore, but that, actually, I don't mind at all. I mind even less when, a few minutes later, a jazz song - something soft and romantic - plays through the wall.


End file.
